


In from the Cold

by Rafaelle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rafaelle/pseuds/Rafaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by gifs of Chilton running through the snow, and the desire to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In from the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff. Fluffy meandering fluff with no plot to speak of. 
> 
> Apologies for playing fast and loose with plot, characters, geography and everything else.

As he ran, blindly, hobbling along as fast as he possibly could, he looked back over his shoulder.

As he rounded a large tree, he ran smack into someone coming the other way.

They didn’t fall, but they bounced off each other quite painfully.

Gasping for breath, he viewed the newcomer with terror, scared that it was the FBI, that they had somehow got in front of him.

But as he managed to focus, he could see that it was one of Will’s neighbours. He had been introduced to her once. She was dressed for a hike.

To his surprise, she recognised him.

“Dr Chilton? Is that you?” she asked, “Whatever is wrong? Where’s your cane?”

She seemed genuinely concerned for him. He decided he had to take a chance, try to get some help. He knew he couldn’t keep ahead of the cops on his own.

“Do you have a car?” he asked her.

“Sure. It’s just a couple of hundred yards away,” she replied, “Do you need to lean on me?”

He was amazed at how willing she was to help him. But on the other hand, when he had met her, it had been because she had been helping Will with his huge menagerie of dogs. And she had a kind face.

He allowed her to take his arm and support him a little as he hobbled to her car. She opened the passenger door, and he climbed in gratefully, so glad to be out of the cold, in some kind of shelter.

She got into the driver’s seat alongside him. “Where can I take you?” she asked.

“Away. Just away from here. Please,” he said, cringing at how bizarre he must sound.

But she just cranked up the heating and pulled away, driving along the little country roads, away from Will’s house. The further he got from there, the better he felt.

She approached a huge junction, which gave options to choose two freeways, in two different directions.

“Which way?” she asked.

“Towards New York?” he asked, hopefully.

To his surprise, she just took the turning that would eventually lead to New York, without any argument or discussion.

She allowed him to sit in silence, hugging himself and revelling in the heat from the car’s heating vents, finally starting to thaw a little.

When they had driven for ten minutes on the freeway, she finally spoke.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happened?” she asked.

“The… the FBI are after me,” he blurted out.

“What on Earth for?” she asked.

“They think… they think I’m the Chesapeake Ripper,” he admitted, praying that she wouldn’t freak out.

“Why would they think that?” she asked, thankfully quite calmly.

“The real ripper. Hannibal Lecter. He framed me. He drugged me, and when I woke up, he’d left bodies all over my property,” he explained, hoping desperately that she would believe him.

There was a long pause, during which he held his breath, wondering if she would freak out, wondering if she would pull over and kick him out of the car, leave him alone in the cold again.

Eventually, she spoke. “Lecter. That makes sense,” she said, to his immense relief, “He always gave me the creeps. So what’s your plan?”

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, “I could only think to get away.”

She was silent for a little while, but comfortingly still eating up the miles at the top of the speed limit.

Finally she said, “You probably don’t want to go anywhere you’ve been before. Nowhere they’d think to look for you.”

“No,” he agreed, relieved that she really seemed to want to help.

“Do you know upstate New York?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he replied.

“Shall we head there?” she asked.

“Yes. Please. I just need to lie low until they work out that it’s not me,” he explained, hoping so hard that she actually believed him.

“You don’t think you’d get a fair hearing if you gave yourself up?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, “I couldn’t. He killed some of their own. I know I’d meet with some kind of accident in custody. If it wasn’t the cops themselves, I might finish up in custody with people who were put in there by my testimony.”

He shuddered at the thought of how he might be treated if he gave himself up.

They lapsed into silence again.

A long while later, she spoke again, “Do you have your cellphone?”

“No,” he replied, he had nothing, not even any money with him.

“Good,” she replied, “I don’t know if they can really be traced, but better safe than sorry.”

“I… I don’t have any money, either, or my credit cards,” he felt he should warn her.

“Well, you couldn’t use your cards, anyway,” she replied.

“I guess not,” he replied, glad that she didn’t seem concerned by his lack of funds.

“I have a friend who has a holiday home in Geneva. I could call him and ask if it’s free. That would avoid having to check into hotels with credit cards and such. Or do you think a nice, anonymous hotel would be better?” she asked.

“I guess it depends if they might work out that I’m with you,” he replied.

“I don’t see how they could,” she said, “We don’t know each other, so there’s no reason why you’d be with me.”

“That’s true,” he replied, “I don’t know why you’re helping me so much.”

“Because you need me to. And because I can,” she replied.

“So you don’t think…?” he faltered, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

“What? That you’re the ripper?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice small.

“No. I don’t think that,” she confirmed, “For one thing, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”, he replied, thankful that she seemed to believe him.

“And you were hardly in any shape to be abducting people for quite a while.” she added.

“Yes,” he said again, feeling immediately more relaxed. Glad that she had genuine reasons for believing him, hopeful that she wasn't just trying to lull him into a false sense of security before turning him in. And if she could work that out, surely the FBI would, too, given time.

There was a little more silence, then she asked, “So, what do you think? Where should I take you?”

“I think a hotel, if you don’t mind lending me the money,” he replied.

“I don’t mind at all,” she replied.

“If… if you could book us in as a couple, that will make it even less likely that the FBI would think of looking there for me. They’d expect me to be alone,” he said, a little worried in case she thought he was being forward, or inappropriate.

“Good idea,” she replied, “We’ll drive a couple more hours, then look for somewhere touristy where we can go unnoticed.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“Are you thawed, and dried out?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you,” he replied.

“Do want something to eat, or would you rather just keep driving?” she asked.

Now he was dry and warm and starting to believe he was safe at least for a while, he was starting to feel a little hungry. And thirsty.

“I could eat something,” he said, hopefully.

She pulled off the freeway at the next exit, then stopped the car outside a little bakery. As she started to get out of the car, he said, “You won’t turn me in, will you?” suddenly seized with insecurity.

She relaxed back into her seat. “Of course not,” she replied, “I could’ve driven you straight to the police station if I’d wanted to do that.”

She had a point, and it was a huge relief to him.

“What would you like to eat?” she asked gently.

She bought fresh sandwiches, with freshly brewed coffee. He was so hungry that it seemed like the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

They ate in a companionable silence. It felt almost nice. He very rarely spent time with women. There seemed to be something about him that drove them away from him, but she seemed quite happy in his company. It was hardly a date, but there was something pleasant about it, even so.

Once they had finished eating, she drove off, and found their way back onto the freeway. She ate up the miles in the perfect way - fast but smoothly, always at or around the speed limit. As quick as possible without attracting any kind of unwanted attention.

Eventually, they were around four hundred miles from Baltimore. “Shout if you see a sign for anywhere you like the look of,” she said to him.

They eventually saw a sign for a lakeside town, all kinds of touristy businesses advertising their wares. She pulled off the freeway and they drove through the pretty town until they reached a big, chain, charge-by-the-room hotel.

She parked up in the car park and they went to reception together. She did all the talking and all the paying. As it was charge-by-the-room, they didn’t ask for his details at all. He spent the time looking at the rack of advertising leaflets by the desk, subtly keeping his face away from the receptionist, but hopefully not so much as to make it obvious that that’s what he was doing.

He carefully walked normally with her to the elevator. Even though it was a little painful. If the receptionist saw a news story, it would doubtless mention his limp, so he didn’t want any kind of weird walk to stick in his mind.

They finally reached their room. It was a huge relief to him to close the door behind him and lock and bolt it.

He took off Will’s coat and laid it over a chair.

“Do you think the receptionist saw my face?” he asked her worriedly.

“I don’t think so. He didn’t really look at you,” she smiled, “I tried to distract him.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Besides, I barely recognised you myself. If the police release a picture of you all perfectly dressed and immaculately turned out like you normally are, you’ll look very different to how you look now,” she smiled.

Despite his peril, his hand flew to his hair. “Why? Do I look awful?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” she reassured him quickly, “You actually look pretty cute with your hair a little soft and fluffy. And the more casual clothes look good on you.”

He actually felt himself blush. He really wasn’t used to praise, and it always flustered him. Especially from women. It gave him a little warm feeling in his stomach that he would have been much too embarrassed to admit to.

“Are those Will’s clothes?” she asked.

“Yes. He let me take a shower at his house, but then he called the FBI,” he said, the betrayal of it still painful.

“He doesn’t think you’re the ripper…” she said - a statement rather than a question.

“No,” he replied quickly, “He just thought I should give myself up, count on them working out the truth.”

“I can see his point,” she said.

“Please. You won’t…” he pleaded, his voice drying up.

“No. No, of course I won’t,” she reassured him, “Will didn’t tell me too much about you, but what he did say made it clear that you’re a survivor. So whatever your gut tells you to do, I’m happy to go along with that.”

“Thank you,” he said, moved. He had never really thought of it like that before. He had been used to thinking about himself as unlucky, a victim, but a survivor sounded much more positive.

Relieved, he sank down on the big squashy leather sofa under the window of the room. She walked over to him, “You look exhausted,” she said, “Why don’t you try to get a little sleep?”

He looked at the door of the room, securely bolted, and he looked at her, her expression kind and concerned, but he still felt unconquerably tense.

“I… I don’t think I could,” he said, “I feel like I can’t let down my guard.”

“I can understand that, but you can’t stay awake for days,” she replied, “You really don’t know how long it will be.”

“I know,” he said, wearily, “I wish I could, I really do.”

“Here’s my cellphone,” she said, taking it out of her pocket and putting it down on the farthest nightstand.

She took off her jacket and threw it on a chair over the other side of the room, then she pulled up the hem of her sweater a little so that he could see there was nothing else in her jeans pockets.

“So I can’t possibly call anyone to turn you in,” she said, sitting down at the other end of the sofa he was on. “Put your head in my lap.”

He did as he was told, and it felt sublimely good to rest his head, and to be so close to her. He craved human contact, but so rarely experienced it.

“If I put my arm around you, then I can’t possibly go anywhere without your knowing,” she said.

She slid her arm around his waist, diagonally across his body. With his right hand, he pressed her hand against his chest, her palm warm against his left pectoral. It felt so good, so comforting to be held.

With her other hand, she gently stroked his hair a couple of times. He almost purred at the sensation.

“I’ll stay awake, and I’ll stay alert, and you can sleep in peace. If I hear anything at all, I promise I’ll wake you,” she said softly.

“You promise?” he asked, his voice already a little thick with sleepiness.

“I promise,” she reassured him.

 

He woke up with a jolt. As the events of the past couple of days crowded into his mind, he tried to sit up.

As he did so, he realised that he was still being gently held.

He relaxed back onto her lap, snuggling his head onto her thigh, feeling his stubble catch on the smooth denim of her jeans.

He took some deep breaths, trying to swallow back the horrors he had witnessed, revelling in the feeling of security that she gave him.

She stroked his hair softly, “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” he replied. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About four hours,” she replied. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes. Thanks,” he said again.

She gently let go of him, and he slowly sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tidy it.

“I’m going to go out and find something for dinner,” she said, “Do you need anything else?”

He rubbed his rough chin. “A razor and some shaving gel?” he asked.

She smiled, “Should be do-able. Anything else? Should I see if I can find some clothes for you to sleep in?”

“If you can, that would be great,” he replied. The clothes he was wearing had been through a lot, and he wanted a change.

“OK,” she said, getting up and grabbing her coat, “I won’t be long.”

He walked with her to the door of the room. He knew she had to go, but he really didn’t want her to leave.

To his surprise, she stepped in and hugged him briefly. “Really, I won’t be long,” she said.

He reluctantly let go of her, and she let herself out of the room. He locked and bolted the door again after her.

Left alone, he couldn’t manage to do anything but pace up and down and stare at the door, willing her to come back, hoping nobody else would come.

After what seemed like forever, but was actually less than half an hour, there was a footstep in the corridor, and a tap on the door.

He peered through the spy hole, incredibly relieved that it was her.

He quickly opened the door, and she stepped in, laden with carrier bags and a paper take-out bag.

He locked and bolted the door again. Feeling so much more secure to have her back with him.

The takeaway was actually pretty good. A wholesome, filling vegetarian dish from a nearby italian place.

They ate together at the only table in the room. He felt better for eating, and something about eating with her seemed in some way normal, even nice, and he started to feel a little less stressed.

She had bought apple juice to go with the meal, and he was actually quite enjoying it. He was used to wine with dinner, but he supposed it was a good idea to stay unimpaired.

They sat together at the table for a little while, after the food was finished, just sipping their drinks.

Suddenly, he needed the answer to a question that he had been too scared to ask, “Will you stay with me? Until it’s safe for me to go home?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied immediately, and to his immense relief.

“Will nobody miss you?” he asked, then immediately regretted it. It was a very personal thing to ask, and sounded serial-killerish even to his own ears.

“I’m actually on vacation,” she replied, “That’s why I had bags with me. Everyone thinks I’m on a hiking trip.”

“In the winter?” he asked, horrified.

She laughed softly, an attractive, uninhibited sound. “Everyone knows I’m odd,” she replied.

They sat together a little while longer, then he finished his juice and walked over to the nightstand. “Do you mind if I put the news on?” he asked.

“No, feel free,” she replied.

He put on the news, and just as he had feared, what had happened was all over it. There were news helicopter pictures of his house, and worse, a picture of him, citing him as someone the police were eager to locate. It was like a nightmare.

He sank down onto the end of the bed, watching in horror.

Suddenly, he became aware of her sitting close beside him. She put an arm around his waist. “I’m so sorry,” she said gently.

He huddled against her, feeling comforted by the closeness of her, and the way she seemed utterly convinced that he was innocent.

She took the remote from him gently, and switched off the television. “There’s no point dwelling on it,” she said, “You were expecting that. You have to give them time to investigate, and to think it through. I’m sure Will will tell them you didn’t do it, too.”

He turned to her and put his arms around her. He was glad when she held him tightly in return. It was so comforting - despite the fact that he hardly knew her.

She held him for a little while longer, then she gently extricated herself from his arms.

“So what do you want to do about sleep?” she asked, “Do you want one of us to stay awake in shifts, or something?”

“No,” he replied, “I can’t ask you to do that. Besides, I guess being awake wouldn’t help if the FBI do find me.”

“Not really,” she agreed, “We just need to trust that we’ve been careful enough.”

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” he asked. He felt filthy. His body and clothes felt grimy with dried sweat and ice water.

“No. Go ahead. You’ll probably feel better,” she said.

She got up and checked a couple of the carrier bags she had brought, and handed them to him. “Some useful things,” she smiled gently.

He took the bags with him and locked himself in the bathroom. He turned on the shower, then stripped off his clothes.

He found soap, shampoo and conditioner in one of the bags she had given him, and he took a long, hot shower, washing himself slowly and thoroughly.

He dried himself on the thick hotel towels, then looked in the other bag. There were a couple of boxes of underwear - boxers and briefs. He put on a pair of snug cotton briefs, then slipped on a cotton t-shirt and a pair of jogging pants that were also in the bag.

They weren’t exactly his normal clothes, but they were warm and cosy and snuggly, and just what he needed.

He went back out into the bedroom. She was sitting on the sofa reading a magazine. She looked up and smiled. “Better?” she asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” he replied, grateful for her concern.

He went over and sat next to her, hoping she might hold him again.

She seemed to sense what he wanted, as she put aside her magazine and held out her arms to him.

He snuggled gratefully against her. He felt much better immediately. But he did have one thing he had to confess to her.

“I… I can’t remember your name,” he said in a small voice.

She hugged him a little tighter for a moment, reassuringly. “It’s OK,” she said.

“Sorry,” he said, still clinging to her.

“There’s no need to be,” she reassured him.


End file.
